Harley Quinn In Your Strange Embrace
by Jan Q
Summary: She was with Mr J when the Bat showed up, so Mr J says shoot him - the Bat that is - and so she empties a clip into him, but the bullets just bounced right off - how was she to know the Bat had Kevlar Mesh underwear. Femslash
1. Chapter 1

The shit hit the fan on the 8pm news broadcast, Pamela "Poison Ivy" Isley should have seen it coming, she always knew that working for the Joker was going to be the death of Harley Quinn one day. It was another of the Joker's madcap schemes involving mass murder (as usual) and cheap novelty items (how original) climaxing in a reckless roof top chase across Gotham with the Batman in tow. People were beginning to think that the Joker and the Bat were seeing each other on the sly by the frequency of their moon light meetings.

This time round the green haired clown must have royally pissed off the Bat because he got the crap waked out of him pretty bad even by the Bat's standards. The bloody rag doll in the cheap suit being man handled by Gotham's finest on the WNN news channel a stark testament to the history of violence between the Capped Crusader and the Clown Prince of Crime. The Bat had thrown Jack "Joker" Napier off a multi-storey fire escape and forgotten to catch him on his way down. Broken leg, broken jaw, multiple lacerations, black eye, and bloody face. The cops would put it down as just another domestic dispute. Some pansy in a purple suit got beaten up by some guy he knew in a rubber one. So what? Happens everyday in the big city. They won't about to go chasing the Bat round Gotham for Jack Napier.

There was no word on Harley Quinn. Isley got on the phone to Harvey "Two Face" Dent fast.

"Harvey, I need ........yes, the news I know ........about Harley"

Harvey Dent and Pamela Isley went way back - they used to date. Things didn't work out but they kept in touch as friends and business associates. In Gotham, everyone who was anyone networked, you didn't burn bridges unless you had to; burning bridges was just plain stupid. Isley knew Dent never did like Quinn; he thought Quinn was some upstart hack from Bluehaven with her cheap polyester clothes and too much face paint. Them Bluehaven groupies were always wanting to make a splash in the big city; Gotham drew them to her like kids to candy. Only thing was no one ever told them pretty boys and girls that sugar kills. Dent could never say no to Isley. That was the problem when you had too much shared history together.

Dent had connections in the force, if they had picked Quinn up in the mop up operation; he was the man who could find out. Isley knew that having Dent bruised and battered in the holding pen at Gotham Central was a way better option than having her out on the lam from the Bat. The guys at Central never gave you flying lessons, but you could never be sure with the Bat. That man had his moods.

It was after 10pm before Dent's point man in the Major Crimes Unit could confirm that Quinn was not among the Joker's goons they had rounded up in the aftermath. They had ID most of the clowns they had picked up for the day. The Joker's main men were all present and accounted for; Bongo, Giggles, Bozo, Cooky even Charlie. The last anyone saw Quinn she was with the Joker, and that was just before all hell broke loose.

"Petal, it doesn't look good. They didn't pick her up..........."

Dent's prognosis was that Quinn must have lucked out and evaded the dragnet or the Bat got her good which meant that she was either dead or the next best thing to it. Word was the Joker got too personal with the Bat again, and the Bat had extracted a pound of flesh in payment. In return the clown got a one way ticket to the hospital wing at Arkham with a leg in traction and a jaw broken in 3 places and wired shut. Mr Happy wasn't going to be laughing at anything soon; the Bat had made sure of that. Dent was never a man to mince his words. He didn't have too. He believed in the luck of the draw. Heads or Tails. Fate ruled the affairs of mankind with no recognisable order.

Isley listened quietly and politely turned down Dent's offer to come over.

"Harvey...I need to be alone to think this out"

"Sure Petal, anytime...."

Harvey Dent ended the call on his mobile. He had expected Isley to get in touch when the news about the Joker broke. Women were so predictable. He didn't pretend to understand what it was between her and that Harley Quinn; although Isley had always preferred the company of men, she had found strange comfort with Quinn. It was a toxic relationship, often ending in a sunless isolation cell in Arkham. Dent knew that by the time he managed to wrangle the paperwork together to spring Isley, the good doctors would have made sure she was even more stir crazy than she was when she went in the first place. It was as plain as night and day that Quinn - that pathetic clown - was no good for her. Quinn was nothing but trouble with a capital "T".

He could see that it would end very much the same again - only this time it was going to be bad for everyone else because the Bat was taking whatever those two clowns did way too personally. That was the problem with them vigilante types, everything was personal.

Harvey Dent believed in Gotham. We the people establish justice, provide for the common good, promote general welfare and secure the blessings of liberty for posterity.

Dent wished he had a dollar for every time one of them hard core vigilante types got caught up in their own urban myths and lost sight that the individual who persecutes his fellow because he is not of the same opinion is a monster; to declare in the administration of criminal law that the end justifies the means, that the Government may commit crimes in order to secure the conviction of a private criminal would bring terrible retribution. You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?

Harvey Dent believed in Gotham. We the oppressors deny justice, enforce poverty, breed ignorance and perpetuate a class structure conspiracy to rob and degrade all others.

Dent wished he had a dollar for every time one of them sappy pencil pushers types got caught up in their own due process fairy tales and lost sight that they sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because real men stand ready to kill, maim and destroy on their behalf; what difference does it make to the dead, the orphans and the homeless whether destruction is wrought under the name of good or evil? Violence, naked force has decisively settled more issues in history than has any other factor. The end excused any evil.

Dent looked at his lucky silver dollar. Gotham was his city once. Was he going to let the Bat tear her apart looking for that creature Quinn? Split his city into good and evil?

He flipped his coin.

The silver dollar turned in the air and fell scarred side up.

The world is cruel, and the only morality in a cruel world is chance.

Live to fight another day, Detective.

Continues in Chapter 2 –


	2. Chapter 2

Harley Quinn hurt. She missed the fire escape on her way out the window and ended up as street pizza; she was messed up bad. Her left arm was mangled in the fall and she had cracked a couple of ribs. She could hear Red's voice in her head purring away in that way she did whenever she was irritated - "I swear, you try my patience, you little...." Harley missed her.

It had all started out as just another job for Mr J. He had this great wonderful plan, it was an experiment in existential nihilism. You know snuff out half of Gotham and see if there was any difference. If there wasn't then the jokes on you because the entire human species is insignificant and without purpose and can make no real change in the totality of existence. Mr J was always good for a laugh. Unfortunately, the Bat didn't see it that way. That was the problem with the Bat; he had no sense of humour - existential or otherwise.

She was with Mr J when the Bat showed up, so Mr J says shoot him - the Bat that is - and so she empties a clip into him, but the bullets just bounced right off - how was she to know the Bat had Kevlar Mesh underwear - so she does the next best thing, she shoots his Boy Wonder.

That really cracked Mr J up, "Hey Bats don't laugh at my jokes too much. People will say we're in love".

Harley only scratched the kid, but the next thing she knows she's flying out the window. She ended up in a dumpster in the alley. The filthy remains of someone's once prized sofa breaking her fall. It could have been worse; she could have hit the ground and become a real concrete blonde. By the time she finally climbed out, the cops had cleaned up house and gone home to Gotham's funniest home videos. It was just dumb luck that it never occurred to Gotham's finest to search the trash.

Harley Quinn made a quick dash back into the crime scene. She needed to ditch the clown suit, clean off the face paint, secure that arm of hers and get back out on the street. She had to get to one of those Wayne City Electrical Stores, the ones with the wall to wall flat screen television displays. You couldn't jaywalk in Gotham without it making the news as a matter of public record. Gotham was that kind of a city. She was a psychologist, she ain't stupid.

They were still playing the news footage from the WNN copters when she got to the corner of Third and Main. Mr J didn't look so good; they didn't get his good side but Bozo really looked sharp in his new tweeds. Blue really was his colour. Well thought Harley Quinn at least Mr J didn't have to worry about nuthin in Arkham, they usually left his padded cell just the way he liked it and he always got an extra helping of tapioca pudding. Pudding for her Puddin.

She knew she had to start watching her back. It wasn't the cops that were worrying her, it was the Bat. She had tried to take out one of his own and that made it personal with him. What was the problem with the Bat? You shoot the Boy Wonder and he takes it like you maundered his pet goldfish or something. Didn't the people at Social Services tell him he wasn't suppose to bring minors along to bad places where they could be shoot, killed and have terrible things done to them. She could see it coming it was going to be "Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise!" with the Bat and Harley Quinn dead meat.

She had to get out of Gotham, maybe steal a bike (she couldn't drive with that arm of hers in a sling) take a left at Albuquerque and head into Metropolis, for a while at least. She could hear Red's voice purring away in her head again - "Harley, Harley, Harley. Never go travelling without a road map." Harley missed her even more.

All Harley ever wanted from Mr J was his love and approval. Not that she got it, not like from Red. Red was the best. They were inseparable. They were a team like Butch and Sundance, Thelma and Louise, Rocky and Bullwinkle. Harley always knew what Red needed to get her hap hap happy again. Well most of the time anyways. Red was special in that special way, you know.

It was past 2am, Pamela Isley had spent the last few hours calling every contact she knew and no one had been able to confirm if Harley Quinn was dead or alive. No one in Gotham wanted to talk about her. It was as if Harley had been crossed out from the phone book. If Batman was right about one thing it was that criminals are a superstitious cowardly lot.

Isley was drawing a tree, its branches the intertwining "ifs" and "ands" of her thoughts.

If Harley was alive, where was she? Hurt? Or just half way to Star City? Was her concern for Harley's well-being warranted? Could she expect next week's mail to arrive with a cutesy postcard scribbled full of hearts, noughts and crosses - "Sorry Red, had to hit the highway for a while. Miss You XXooXX". It won't be the first time; Harley disappeared only to show up on her doorstep with a silly grin on her face - "Hi, Bay-Bee" - before throwing her arms around Pamela in a big tight bear hug. Pamela Isley was never quite sure how she ended up with a friend like Harley Quinn.

If Harley was dead, what then? Was she expected to cry, scream and carry out a plan of retribution against the Bat? Against the world? That was how she ended up in Arkham in the first place. She still wakes up sometimes. She wakes up in the dark and she can hear them screaming; every tree, every flower, every blade of grass. The years have deadened her to the losses. She lost the Rosaceae Vularis when they built the new Gotham Penitentiary. The facility was Harvey Dent's brain child for a better safer Gotham. She poisoned him for it and she knows he has never quite forgiven her for it. Men are strange creatures with egos and a huge inferiority complex at the same time.

What would Harley have wanted? Harley had started talking to her about them (Harley & Ivy signed off with a heart), confusing talk about how Harley liked and admired her (no), leaving Gotham and finding a new place with more sunlight for a change (cant). Their place in the sun as Harley liked to put it.

Emotions were transient to Pamela Isley. She was a peculiarly deadly mess of contradictions; a moment sweet, the next destructive. Yet Harley Quinn was her friend and more important to her than anyone would ever know. Pamela wondered why that was, after all what's she got in common with a sociopath whose goal in life is to be the Joker's right hand.

She doesn't know and she doesn't understand why when Harley is gone there is a hole in the world where Harley used to be, a hole which she finds herself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.

I miss you like hell.

Continues in Chapter 3 –


	3. Chapter 3

Cats always land on their feet. Throw them off a building and they will still land on their feet, little girl clowns were an entirely different matter altogether. Selina "Catwoman" Kyle was perched on the roof of the Gotham Exchange around the corner from Third and Main when she spotted a lone figure with a banged up arm standing in front of the Wayne City Electrical Store. Blonde pigtails, sweat pants and a baby tee – one size too small – standing out in the open at 2am in a Gotham winter's morning without coat, gloves or hat. You could always spot Harley Quinn in a crowd; she was the insane one.

The problem mused Kyle wasn't really Quinn herself; it was a combination of Jack "Joker" Napier and Pamela "Poison Ivy" Isley. Napier insisted on dressing her like a jack-in-a-box and Isley insisted on dressing her like some high school senior gym class. Poor kid probably didn't even have a warm coat. It was so easy to lose sight of yourself trying to impress others. Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem. Kyle was herself guilty of that transgression.

A long time ago, before she put on her mask, she was afraid of everything. It started on the day she died. If there had been an obituary, it would have described the unremarkable life of an unremarkable woman. Did anyone know who she was? Nobody. Except on the day after, she was still alive. Suddenly this nobody had a chance to be somebody. That was part of the rule. Never quit. Never let them see you're afraid. Above all never let them see you're hurt. Never let them see you cry. Never.

Of course someone had to be insane in the first place to want to remake herself in the image of the Joker and stick with the murderous psychopathic clown through thick and thin. Kyle had scant respect for a woman who would allow a man to subjugate her so totally in the essential sexuality of male power: of hate, of ownership, of hierarchy; of sadism, of dominance. If a woman was not self sufficient, she had no business being out on her own at Arkham.

Kyle was a thief. Not so much for the prize or the profit but for the art and because she could and because she was good. Whatever her moral virtues, Kyle thought there was no reason for Napier to do what he did. After all, lots of people make bads choices romantically. Its usually not punished with such cruelty and humiliation. It would have been kinder if he had simply thanked the woman for her trouble and her heart and shot her in the head point blank.

Some people say their entire lives that they haven't found themselves yet. But the self is not something one finds; it is something one creates and after the Joker reduced Dr Harleen Quinzel into a psychological non squinter, he fashioned himself a sick twisted puppy out of the corn mash.

Only it was a sick twisted puppy that was curiously attached to Pamela Isley. Selina Kyle had noticed that Quinn spent an abnormal amount of time with Isley including all major holidays (Christmas, Halloween, St Patrick's Day?) to the extent that even the Joker was known to make a wisecrack on the cost of Harley's day care. The telling of jokes is an art of its own, it always rises from some emotional threat. The best jokes are dangerous, and dangerous because they are in some way truthful.

Kyle herself had observed Quinn spend an entire evening looking at Isley across the floor at the Iceberg Lounge while playing court fool to her Clown Prince of Crime ("Aw, c'mon, Puddin' -- don'tcha wanna rev up ya Harley? Vroom! Vroom!"). Isley had not once look back at Quinn. She had instead appeared preoccupied with her own male companions and Isley had adequate control of the human male ("Hello, lover. Long time, no see."). But the sexual tension between the two was explicit and unmistakeable.

Show a man what he expects to see, and he won't look beneath the surface. Women pause, watch and listen closely and see the multiplicity of ways in which people mash and hide the truth. Kyle knew how tender Quinn was up close and personal with Isley. It was in the way they spoke to each other or touched when they thought no one else was watching.

She wondered if Quinn knew that Isley was not capable of love. It was in her DNA. Isley's past was even more insane than hers. Someone had dunked her in a vat of chemicals as carelessly as a fat cop with a krispy kreme making her into some kind of plant human hybrid. The change also triggered the manifestation of a massively emotionally unstable personality. Despite everything Quinn was tender all the same, It was sad that we always long for forbidden things, and desire what is denied us.

What was equally curious was how Quinn had managed to evade both Batman and the cops. Kyle had enjoyed the evening's entertainment earlier flashed live on a hundred HD flat screens in the same Wayne City Store that Quinn was now standing in front of. Quinn while competent with gun and spanner wasn't a criminal genius by a long shot. Criminal genius gravitated towards the bright lights of Metropolis. Gotham on the other hand bred madness. Kyle had always figured it was the water. She drank bottled.

What was curiouser was that Quinn was out in the open a few hours after the Bat had busted the Joker and effectively shut him down in Gotham – for the here and now anyway. Kyle did not share her erstwhile romantic interest's belief that he could wash the world clean with blood and tears. Some men aren't looking for anything logical. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.

If Quinn had any sense she should be on the first bus out to Star City or trying to make her way to Robinson Park for sanctuary.

Isley kept a presence in Robinson Park, which was grudging tolerated by the Bat and his kind. It was next to impossible to patrol 10 blocks of park land complete with undergrowth and canopy cover, even with their wonderful toys, so they had come to mutual understanding. Isley kept the park clean of major criminal activity and the Bats left Isley alone. Kyle wasn't too fond of Robinson Park herself, but she had on recent occasion taken opportunity of Isley's largeness to escape the unwanted attentions of Batgirl and Nightwing. Kyle had not wanted to make an example of them; her relationship with Batman was currently strained and she did not want to force another nasty confrontation with him. That was the problem with teenagers nowadays; they had no respect for their betters. It was the same problem with Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome.

It appeared that Quinn had seen enough of her Mr J being hauled back bloody and broken to Arkham on HDTV and was now making her way back down Third. Kyle decided to follow her for want of anything better to do. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but what's life without a little risk. Excess on occasion is exhilarating. It prevents moderation from acquiring the deadening effect of a habit. Live fast. Love hard. Die young. Leave a good-smelling corpse.

Continues in Chapter 4 –


	4. Chapter 4

Harley Quinn couldn't feel her fingers or toes no more. She should have packed that coat in her kit like they told her too; it was like they were always saying there was a reason why Mr J never got sick. He always wore his coat. Well.......Harley had never seen Red wear a coat and she was never sick but maybe that was because Red had acid for blood. Maybe having acid blood was like having you own personal supply of anti-freeze or something like those aliens on 's no such thing as safe sex with aliens. Think acid-for-blood. Think mate-then-kill.

She was beginning to miss Red again. "You should watch your back" Red was always telling her - "not when I got you watchin it for me" thought Harley Quinn. Harley missed the old days when it was just her and Red living on the lam roughing it out in one greenhouse or other. She wondered what happened to "It's just you and me, Harley" or "Thank you, Harley". Mistletoe could be deadly if you eat it. But a kiss could be even deadlier if you mean it. Cross my heart and hope to die. Why was it that people were always forgetting about her? Anyways it sure was getting cold, she better just hurry up and make her way back. Her teeth were beginning to make beautiful music together.

Quinn was half frozen by the time she ran back to ground zero. Mangled arm, a slab of ribs over easy and now the start of hyperthermia. Way to go, Harley Quinn.

Her lungs burning, she deftly scaled the fire escape and entered the sealed apartment via the smashed window. The cops hadn't even bothered to seal it properly with a plank, that was police procedure and going by the book in Gotham for ya. Quinn was looking desperately for her blanket when she noticed the familiar figure sitting alone in the shadow just to her right.

"Whatcha lookin at......cat got ya tongue?"

"No, just your blanket"

Quinn lowered the long barrel of her Luger pistol as the other woman tossed the blanket at her as a peace offering. Putting the Luger aside, Quinn grateful wrapped her frozen body in its woollen warmth and went to work rubbing the life back into her hands and feet.

"Nice gun. Collector's item. Go green gift from someone?"

Kyle had picked up the Luger and was now admiring it. Limited edition release. Kyle liked shinny expensive things. She found it strange that Quinn would own a solid piece as sleek and beautiful as this. A sawn off shotgun or a dull knief would be more in line with what she knew of Quinn's taste and duties. She was beginning to wonder how much she actually knew about the clown girl.

"How did ya get in?"

"Same way as you"

"Should have sealed it down good and tight when i was goin' out"

"Should have...........so what's a nice clown like you doing in a place like this?"

Quinn was regarding her unwanted guest in a strange light. Selina Kyle was a paradox in Gotham. Jewel thief extraordinaire and the only person with the exception of the Boy Wonder that Batman actually liked keeping company with. Kyle put on the cat suit and kept it on because she liked the thrill of the chase. There was something really yummy about adrenaline. Playing with the Bat was one of the soft peaks of the job. After all a girl needs her guilty pleasures along with her exercise.

So if Kyle was here, where was the Bat? Was he hiding in the dark back there so he could jump out at her again and made sure this time round he cracked her neck good and finished what he started? Quinn lowered her head, she needed to calm down and think this out. She was letting the pain and the cold get to her. Think Harley what would Mr J do in a situation like this? Simple. Smile and the whole world smiles with you.

"The Bat sent ya didn' he?"

"I don't do errands for Batman"

"Sure ya don't and I'm the tootin tooth fairly. I'm askin nicely Cat - Where's the Bat?"

"Around. In the few hours since he took out the Joker, the rest of them will now be fighting to eat up the left overs"

Quinn thought about it and it was kinda true. Bats probably had more pressing engagements to attend to right now. Tuff wars in the Gotham Underground are usually sparked by Bats taking out one of the Crime Gods and Mr J left behind some rich pickings. Mr J would have loved it. She could just hear him now crackling away – "Fill the suburbs with murder and rape! Divine madness! Let there be ecstacy, ecstacy in the streets! Laugh and the world laughs with you!".

Mr J had dreams, that was what she loved about him. All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night just wake in the day and continue with their dreary lives: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible. Mr J had big dreams of blood and fire and desperation and hate. He was the most brilliant mind she had ever met. She found his pysche disturbing, his dementia alarming and his charm irresistible.

"So how ya find me?"

"I didn't. I saw you in front of the Wayne City at Third and Main."

"So ya followed me?"

"In a way I let myself in."

"Why?"

"I was curious."

"Bout what?"

"I was curious how you managed to slip the cops and Batman."

"No biggie. Bats threw me out the window and I ended up in the dumpster below. By the time I got out everyone was gone. Must be Gotham's funniest home videos on the TV night"

"Mangled an arm. It's such a waste when pretty things get broken."

"It'll grow back."

"Say you went to Wayne City to ............."

"Wanted to check if Mr J was ok."

"Why?"

"Why so serious?"

Because thought Harley Quinn he is more myself than I will ever be. They were a single soul residing in two bodies, but she can't see that anymore. All she sees are the flaws.

People think Mr J's an obsession with her. A compulsion. But she's never consider it to be like that. She knows what's she's doing. She chose this life and on any given day she could stop. Today, however, isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be either.

See, there were these two guys in a lunatic asylum and one night they decide they don't like living in an asylum any more. They decide they're going to escape! So they get up on to the roof, and there, just across the narrow gap, they see the rooftops of the town, stretching away in the moon light.

Now the first guy jumps right across with no problem. But his friend, his friend daren't make the leap. Y'see he's afraid of falling. So then the first guy has an idea. He says "Hey! I have my flash light with me. I will shine it across the gap between the buildings. You can walk across the beam and join me." But the second guy just shakes his head. He says "What do you think I am, crazy? You would turn it off when I was half way across."

Continues in Chapter 5 –


End file.
